


Still it Burns

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Isaac Lahey, Bottom Jordan Parrish, Bottom Liam Dunbar, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Everyone Is Gay, Future Fic, Jackson Whittemore is a Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Malia Doesn't Exist, Marriage, Mpreg, Mpreg is normal but rare, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Hierarchy, Phoenix Jordan Parrish, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Sheriff Stilinski's name is Genim, Short Chapters, Stiles Stilinski's name remains an unpronounceable secret, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Brett Talbot, Top Chris Argent, Top Peter Hale, Top Scott McCall, True Alpha Scott McCall, Werewolf Danny Mahealani, Werewolf Hunters, Yeah you read that right, everyone is a BAMF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tumultuous town of Beacon Hills has settled into something that looks a lot like peace, since the successful construction of two (very separate) werewolf packs within its borders. Having joined forces to repel several supernatural threats over the years, the Hale and McCall packs have built up a reputation that puts off hunters and creatures alike setting foot on their territory. Feeling secure, the packs decide it is time to think about adding to their ranks the natural way: children.</p><p>Meanwhile, ex-Deputy Jordan Parrish returns to the town, with some potentially dangerous news of his own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Did you love but never learn?

Jordan Parrish sat in his car, contemplating the road ahead. It had been a few years since he had set foot in Beacon Hills, with good reason. Though he still kept in contact with several of the residents here, Skype and Facetime was not exactly the same thing as spending time in the town itself. Beacon Hills had been a hub of supernatural activity when he left; a source of both wonder and pain. While one part of Jordan regretted ever leaving, another, louder part was telling him he was crazy to return.

The unnatural pull of the Nemeton weakened with distance, since other magical influences interfered with its drawing power. Sitting alone on the hills above the town, Jordan could once more feel its insidious tendrils of power, coaxing him onward. It seemed ridiculous to think that just a few short years ago, he’d been so ignorant of his own abilities, that he’d been blissfully unaware of what drew him to Beacon Hills in the first place.

He no longer had the luxury of hiding behind ignorance. There were serious, time-sensitive reasons why he needed to speak to the non-human residents of the town face-to-face.

Jordan’s main dilemma was choosing who to speak with first. The obvious choice was his former boss’s son, Stiles. He was on good terms with the young man, and he was only one who had personal experience of the change Jordan was currently going through. However, Alan Deaton would also have very valuable insight. Futhermore, Deaton didn’t come with the added baggage of a Pack, led by an Alpha that Jordan knew he would never learn to trust.

With a heavy sigh, Jordan resigned himself to dealing with Deaton’s cryptic bullshit, and picked up his phone to dial the familiar number.

It was never a good idea to surprise anyone with an unpronounced visit in this particular town.


	2. Did you find it hard to breathe?

The morning dawned bright and clear, another lovely Californian day. Stiles Stilinski Hale woke up the same way as usual; with his Mate curled up behind him, breathing into his neck, one possessive arm thrown over Stiles’ stomach. And their youngest son stood directly in front of him, staring at them with barely-disguised ill humour. The toddler should not have been intimidating in his footie pyjamas, with one hand clutching a toy rabbit, whilst the other was jammed firmly in his mouth. And yet...

Stiles let out an unhappy groan, and elbowed Peter in the stomach. His Mate snorted unattractively and rolled over, to go straight back to sleep facing the other direction.

“Asshole,” Stiles whispered, under his breath, conscious of his son’s sensitive werewolf ears. It would be just his luck if his kid started swearing in daycare. As if the militant women that ran the place didn’t hate him enough already.

Stiles had fought long and hard to get Peter to allow their kids to socialise with other children, twice a week, in ‘normal’ human daycare. He was not about to jeopardise that by teaching his kid bad habits. Said kid was still glaring at him, wordlessly and without blinking, whilst gumming on his own hand. Stiles sat up and stretched, listening to the satisfying crunch of his bones as he shook himself awake.

“Alright you little Houdini, quit giving me puppy evils, I’m up, I’m up!” he groused, slipping out of bed and moving toward the pup in question, who immediately lifted his arms in a silent demand to be lifted.

Lukas was the great escapist in the family, somehow able to undo every child-proof lock Stiles could get his hands on, and he rarely spoke in human words. He would probably have run off long ago, into the wilderness to gorge on rabbits, if he wasn’t such a momma’s boy. Luke wanted to be wherever Stiles was. He made an awful racket whenever he was left with anyone else, even for a moment. It was a marked divergence from the behaviour of his older brother, and Stiles’ firstborn, Genim.

Genim was independent, impatient to be allowed greater freedom, and hated to be coddled. Peter took this to be an indication that he would be an alpha someday. Privately, Stiles shuddered at the thought of either one of his babies growing up to inherit such a burden of power.

Stiles had great sympathy for his own father, now that he was a parent himself. He worried over his children, almost constantly. With such a good knowledge of all the dangers out there, it took every ounce of Stiles’ strength to let them out of his sight to attend daycare or playdates with their little friends.

That morning when Lukas clutched onto Stiles’ shoulder as he was picked up, he dug in with his beta claws; little pin-pricks that had Stiles yelping in surprise.

“Woah, little buddy. Watch out for Momma’s fragile human skin, okay?” he said, as he took in the sight of those tiny claws retracting back into human fingernails.

He lifted one of Luke’s hands to cover it with kisses, so the boy would know he hadn’t done anything wrong. Then they quietly made their way out of the master bedroom and into the main interior of the house. Luke giggled and squirmed in Stiles’s hold, as he peppered his son’s face with kisses, carefully concealing his concern. Lukas had never shifted outside of the full moon before, and that was still a week away.

Genim had certainly never shifted this early, not even a partial shift of just teeth or just claws. Either way, it looked like daycare was off the cards, at least for today. The potential for accidental harm, and the subsequent discovery of Lukas’ lycanthropy, was just too high to risk it.

 


	3. Did you feel the smoke in your eyes?

Alan Deaton surveyed the supernatural creature he’d let behind his protective mountain ash wood barrier, with his usual cool detachment. Jordan had not been shocked by the other man’s calm reaction to his return to Beacon Hills. He had prepared himself, mentally, for Deaton’s frustratingly reticent manner. None of this measured up to the reality of speaking to such a cagey man. He understood that Deaton had to be cautious, as Scott’s emissary, regarding the level of trust he gave to supernaturals outside of the McCall Pack. But Jordan was tired, anxious, and suddenly felt very isolated from the world. If Deaton didn’t decide to open up soon, it was very likely Jordan would accidentally set the surgery on fire, out of sheer irritation.

Finally, Deaton deigned to speak.

“I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised that this event has occurred, though I did not expect to see you in Beacon Hills again, given your... _connection_ to the Argents.”

If Jordan had been a werewolf, he surely would have growled in response to that. Instead, he settled for a glare, and replied: “I'm not 'connected to the Argents’. I have nothing to do with that psychotic clan. Just Chris.”

Deaton hummed noncommittally, essentially calling bullshit on what he perceived to be Jordan’s naivety.

He fixed Jordan with his steely, unflinching gaze as he said: “Be that as it may, there are many hunters, the Argents included, that will feel they have something to do with _you..._ once this news comes to light. An adult phoenix is one thing. You are a well-trained man, with formidable allies, and a solid reputation.”

Jordan blinked at the compliment, but Deaton was clearly far from done, so he kept silent.

“A phoenix child is quite another matter." Deaton continued; "In your current state, you are vulnerable. And there are such places where the trafficking of supernaturally powered humans is commonplace. You will need to remain vigilant if you wish your child to remain safe in your care. I am sorry to hear, that Chris Argent will not be providing you with the assistance you are going to need, at this delicate time.”

From the quizzically arched eyebrow on the older man’s face, Jordan understood that Deaton was asking him whether or not it was Chris’ duty to ‘take care of him’. Jordan ignored the unspoken question and instead asked one of his own;

“Can you tell me how best to approach the Hale Pack? I know the McCall Pack has a truce in place with them, so you must have experience brokering deals.”

Deaton didn’t move, but something about Deaton’s face revealed that he had not expected Jordan to ask something like this. Nevertheless, he took the enquiry in his stride.

“That depends entirely on the nature of the request,” he stated, a transparent effort to fish for more details, which Jordan refused to supply. He had already revealed enough.

After an awkward silence, Deaton finished by saying: “However, given your previous association with the Beacon County Sheriff’s department, I would you suggest that you start with the Sheriff himself. He is a human member of the Hale Pack, and will provide you with a better insight than I can.”

Jordan had thought as much himself. Satisfied that his own idea was supported by the emissary, he nodded and offered his thanks, before preparing to leave. He was under no illusions; Jordan knew that as soon as he left the vet’s surgery, Deaton would call Scott. His time under the radar in Beacon Hills was limited, and he planned to use it wisely.


	4. Were you blinded by the light?

Genim Stilinski usually spent a good portion of his morning dedicated to paperwork, and the consumption of coffee, unless he was required at a crime scene. Beacon Hills had quietened down in the last few years, as the two Packs had stabilised. There were less supernaturally-powered invaders or hunters intruding. This meant less unexplainable crime, which had to be creatively covered up. It did wonders for the Sheriff's stress levels. Nowadays, the general crimes he dealt with were auto-accidents and domestic disputes, and the supernatural incidents were few and far between.

His quiet morning was interrupted, however, far sooner than he anticipated. One of the Deputies who had joined his department after the whole fiasco with Matt Daehler, Donna Simmons, was talking a mile a minute outside his office. She knocked unceremoniously on his door, and Genim let out his usual bark of a greeting. He was expecting her to present him with a file, maybe with the addition of some Stiles-approved ‘heart smart’ snack. He was _not_ expecting his bubbly Deputy to herald the arrival of a familiar, welcome face in the station.

Jordan Parrish gave him a broad, but nervous, smile hello. He was dressed in what Stiles liked to call ‘hunter chic’: a black leather jacket, with a dark t-shirt and jeans. His hair was dyed back to the familiar blonde he’d sported when he first arrived in the town. He looked healthy, if a little tired, but Genim was more cautious in his initial assessment than he wanted to be.

Parrish had been a friend and ally to the Pack, and his department, for years. But there’d been rumours about his involvement with werewolf hunters. That had the Sheriff’s blood pressure rising... the thought of what Parrish’s unannounced presence could mean for Beacon Hills. If Parrish was being chased, that could mean trouble for the town, and more importantly, for his son and grandsons. The Packs had proven time and again to be strong enough to withstand dangerous supernatural foes, but that didn’t make the threat of death any less real. There were always casualties, each time they did battle.

Simmons seemed unaware of the tension, as she deposited the file she’d also been carrying, and left the Sheriff and his ex-Deputy to ‘catch up’. Genim wordlessly offered the younger man a seat. There was no use jumping to conclusions; he had to ascertain the facts first, before taking any action.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, Parrish,” the Sheriff began, “But I hope you’ll forgive me asking if there’s anyone or... any _thing_ that might have followed you here?”

Parrish grimaced, but Genim believed him when he replied:

“Not to my knowledge, no. There’s a small possibility that Chris Argent might return to Beacon Hills, but somehow I doubt it. I didn’t come back ‘cause I’m running. I came back for some advice.”

The Sheriff frowned, astute enough to hear what Parrish wasn’t saying - that whatever he needed advice about, it couldn’t be given over the phone.

“Advice from me?” He asked.

Just like that, Parrish deflated, as though the effort of seeming nonchalant was suddenly too much for him to bear. The Sheriff’s concern ratched up another three levels, before the young man even managed to clarify.

“Advice from Stiles.”

Genim sat up straight in his ergonomic chair, not attempting to hide the tension tightening up his body. And his morning had been going so well...

“Can’t Deaton help you?”

It was a valid question. Since Stiles had embraced his magic, he’d become a formidable Druid and Emissary. But Alan Deaton still had years more experience, and a wealth of connections and knowledge in the hidden World of the Weird.

Parrish had apparently stopped beating around the bush, because he said; “No,” in a tone that brooked no argument, and then followed it up with;

“I’m pregnant. And Stiles is the only man I’ve met that has given birth to a non-human baby. I know there’s a world of difference between werewolves and phoenix, but there’s literally no one else I can turn to. I’m... clutching at straws.”

 _Christ._  There were no visible signs of pregnancy yet, but that just meant Parrish was in the early stages, not a liar. In response to such a bold, raw statement, the Sheriff’s heart clenched in sympathy. But apparently, that wasn’t even the worst of it.

“It’s not just pregnancy advice either, sir.” Parrish offered him a wry, miserable smile. “Phoenix babies are worth a lot on the black market. In a few months, I’m not going to be able to hide it, or properly defend myself. And anyone who knows what I am, especially the hunters I’ve pissed off over the years...”

He didn’t need to complete the sentence for the Sheriff’s mind to follow the logical paths. Hunters would be after Parrish for his unborn child, to do god knows what with it. Genim had had enough experience with human sacrifice and kidnapping for more than one lifetime, thank you, and he wasn’t about to turn away anyone in need of his help. Especially a friend. A _pregnant_ friend.

Genim swore, impolitely and quickly, before picking up his work phone and dialling an outside line. He needed to talk to his son-in-law.

“No one’s getting their hands on you or your kid, Parrish, not on my watch.” He growled, adamantly, as he waited for someone to answer the Hale house phone. (Peter rarely answered his personal phone, preferring Stiles to act as a mediator between the Pack and the outside world.)

The look Parrish shot him was one of extreme relief and gratitude, but the Sheriff had no time to say anything else, because a voice on the other end of the phone spoke, and he was pulled into another conversation.


	5. Did you lose what won't return?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter contains mentions of fertility issues, and adoption. Neither in graphic detail.

When his phone went off, Scott McCall scrambled to get it out of his jeans, in such a flurry that he almost clawed his pocket clean off. His face fell when he saw Deaton’s name on the ID. He bit back a whine of disappointment.

The full moon was only a week away, and Isaac still hadn’t come home yet.

Scott was trying not to take it as a sign, that his marriage was heading the same way his parent’s had. Straight down the drain. But at this point, it would take a level of incredible denial not to see it. A level that not even Scott was capable of. Still, reconciling himself to the fact that Isaac’s impromptu departure would inevitably become a permanent separation, was something that Scott was not yet prepared to do.

Isaac was the love of his life, and no part of Scott... not the man, and _certainly_ not the Alpha werewolf, was willing to give up without a fight. But their problems stemmed from their inability to have a baby. And Scott wasn’t sure they could repair what was left of their relationship, if he continued to be unable to provide Isaac with one.

When Isaac had been human, he had not been one of those men who could have children. It had never been an issue back then. Isaac’s father had been homophobic, and being able to have children, even if Isaac had no interest in actually having them, would have painted another target on his back. Then he became a werewolf, his father died, and he fell in love with Scott.

All Beta werewolves had the potential to give birth; provided they were mated to a male Alpha. With Scott’s true Alpha status - and being that they were stable and happy, and actually wanted them - adding children to their family and Pack should have been easy. It had been the next logical step in their relationship. They’d spent weeks talking it over, making sure they were on the same page, before taking the plunge.

The ‘trying to get pregnant’ part had been fun, at first. Werewolves were tactile creatures, who loved to part-shift during sex. And making love to someone of his own kind, as opposed to a human or kitsune, had always been a headrush for Scott. Isaac was his _Mate_. His soft growls were the lullaby Scott drifted off to at night, and his kisses tasted of love and acceptance. He smelled like _Home_.

They’d had no issue having sex all over the house, in all kinds of weird positions, until every nook and cranny of the Den stunk of their combined scent. Liam, Brett and Kira had complained, vocally, but with grins on their faces. Life had been good; full of promise and hope.

The problems arose when months had gone by, and there hadn’t been a single whiff of pregnancy.

Only the Pack, their Emissary, and Scott’s mother knew of their attempts. Though it took every ounce of Scott’s willpower, he had learnt to be cautious about what he told Stiles. They still considered themselves best friends. So it had been a bitter pill to swallow, for both of them, knowing that they could not allow themselves to be honest with one another. Not if they wanted the truce between their Packs to survive.

So Scott only had his mom and Deaton to turn to for advice, after months of nothing. Werewolves were fertile creatures, and it should not have been this hard. According to Deaton, Talia Hale had given birth to seven children, and even Peter goddamn Hale had managed to father four kids in his lifetime.

Deaton had recommended they try human methods first. Once they had exhausted Melissa’s list of home remedies, they’d turned to magic. There were only two methods applicable to their situation; one spell and one potion. Neither had worked, and though Isaac had begged him to ask Stiles for help, Scott had to draw the line somewhere.

It was true that Stiles was the stronger Druid, naturally gifted. Stiles was easily more powerful than Deaton, Morell, and Lydia combined. But Scott also knew that Stiles would be forced to tell Peter about any magic he performed on behalf of the McCall Pack, as per the terms of their truce.

Peter Hale was certainly smart enough to deduce that Scott would not ask Stiles to perform magic such as this, if they hadn’t already attempted every other avenue. Scott couldn’t stand the thought of Peter’s smug face, crowing over his own three strong and healthy sons. While Scott, the supposedly stronger Alpha, couldn’t even provide his Mate with _one_.

Naturally, Isaac didn’t share his concerns. Isaac hadn’t cared in the slightest, if Scott’s ‘fragile ego’ was damaged, turning to the other Pack for help. Not if they got a baby out of it. Scott had tried to explain, as calmly as possible, that although his pride was a factor, the more important factor to consider was what Peter was likely to ask for, in return for Stiles’ services.

“As long as it’s not _our firstborn child_ , Scott, I couldn’t give less of a fuck what Peter Hale wants." Isaac had snarled, "Just give it to him! Then do damage control afterwards, like you do for everything else. Why is _this_  the one time you won’t compromise, and work with someone you fear? You never had a problem working with all manner of creeps before, when we were teenagers.”

His words cut Scott right to the bone, as he scrambled to organise his thoughts into coherent sentences.

“That isn’t fair,” he’d settled for, “Who knows who might get caught in the crossfire, if Peter wants more territory, or more people to take the Bite, or something? What if people die, just so _we_  can have a baby? Could you live with that? And if the kid ever found out what we had done... what it had cost. Do you think you would forgive your parents for something like that? Maybe my Mom’s right, maybe we could adopt...”

Isaac had laughed at him. A bitter, hollow laugh, accompanied by the kind of twisted smile that Scott hadn’t seen on his Mate’s face in a long time. Not since Isaac had been Derek’s Beta.

“Only you, Scott, would think bringing a vulnerable child to Beacon Hills is an actual viable solution. A kid who doesn’t smell like family, and could never be offered the Bite, because of the rules that _you_ made Peter agree to? That kid would be a target for hunters and fuck-knows-what, all its life, without even smelling like Pack at first. Have you actually gone insane, or are you just trying to fuck with me?” Isaac had said, and nothing Scott did to try and defuse the situation after that had worked.

They hadn’t been able to reconcile that night. So Scott had resigned himself to sleeping in a guest bedroom for the foreseeable future. What he hadn’t foreseen, was coming home from work, to find Isaac sitting in their hallway. With his bags already packed.

The worst thing about it, after the initial shock, was how little surprise Scott truly felt when Isaac had walked out on him. It was as though some part of him knew that the people he loved were always going to leave him - his father, Allison, Kira, even Stiles. They all left in the end, because Scott had never been enough.

Scott had given those people space, once they were gone. Thinking that freedom to breathe, to think, would lead to them coming back to him. But though he’d managed to regain his friends, it was only ever as friends, and he was _not_ prepared to move onto a life where Isaac was 'just a friend'.

In refusing point black to accept that they might be over for good, Scott knew he was jeopardizing not only himself, but his Packmates also. Brett and Liam, especially, relied on him to be a strong Alpha. Though both of them had secure anchors, and good control over their shifts, it was still Scott’s duty to rein them in through their Pack bond.

As a kitsune, Kira had about the same level of connection as a human member of a Pack, and so she relied on him far less. But in some way or another, they all depended on him to remain strong and stable during their shifts. Scott was in no way stable enough to control himself right now, let alone his Betas. For the first time in years, he was facing a night in chains.

Whereas Isaac had the best control over his shift of any Bitten wolf Scott had ever met. It rankled him to think that his husband might not even be unbalanced by the current state of their relationship. Isaac had remained in control, his first time, just after his abusive father had died. So it wasn't proof that Isaac didn’t love Scott anymore, if he didn’t need to be restrained during the full moon. Was it?

Fighting back insecurities was an important aspect of remaining in control of himself during the full moon shift... and Scott was absolutely sure this month’s shift was going to be hell. So when his phone rang, and it was just Deaton, Scott felt justified in his complete lack of interest in speaking with his Emissary.

Unless, of course, the topic of conversation was something to do with Isaac.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note this goes AU after season 4 (with the exception that Malia doesn't exist in this fic. I love Malia but I believe her storyline was supposed to be Jackson's, which they re-wrote because Colton Haynes left the show). Characters/scenarios from S5 onwards will not be included.
> 
> Title taken from 'Flares' by The Script.
> 
> Comments & Kudos make new chapters appear quicker! I love to debate theories, so please tell me what you think! <3


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